


wicked little town

by phalangine



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Western, M/M, Tags to be added, a bit of stulber but it's ya know second string
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-14 00:23:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12995769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phalangine/pseuds/phalangine
Summary: three takes on a wild west theme





	wicked little town

**Author's Note:**

> all of these were inspired by the plot of the video game _red dead redemption_. it isn't necessary to be familiar with the game to understand the fics, though (chapter one borrows some of the plot from rdr, but chapters two and three have nothing to do with it beyond sharing a setting)
> 
> cw for (vague) references to period typical homophobia

Lorca walks into the office building with one hand holding a bloody sack over his shoulder and the other aiming a pistol. He walks past the man at the front desk without pausing to greet him, just carries his bag up the stairs into the first room on the right.

There are two men waiting inside. Both get up when they see him enter, their expressions wary.

For a second, Lorca considers making good on the flash of fear in their eyes. But that would cost him more than it would win him, so he tosses his grim package to the floor before them.

“Three heads of three gangsters, as promised,” he says. “You can check I got the right ones if you like. I won't take it personal.”

The older man’s mouth thins in distaste. “When we said we wanted their heads, we were being metaphorical, Mr. Lorca.”

Lorca shrugs. “They're dead, regardless. Now where's Tyler?”

The younger man glances at his superior before he says, “Your friend is in the care of our New York office. We can have him sent to you, or you can collect him yourself.”

“I think I'd like to get him myself. Don't want you boys getting up to any further mischief, now do I?”

“We’ll make the necessary arrangements,” the older lawman says. “You'll have your man back in a few days.”

“You be sure I do,” Lorca tells him. “I don't think either of us would want me coming back to see you.”

With that, Lorca turns on his heel and walks out.

 

**_xx_ **

 

The lawmen wisely don't try to fool with him further. Ash is waiting on a bench outside the office, as promised. His face is purple and swollen in places it has no business being purple and swollen, there are dark circles under his eyes, and he winces when he gets to his feet. But he's alive. Lorca focuses on that. For now, while they're out in the open, he can focus on that.

After nearly a year of Lorca running on nothing but fear for Ash’s life, Ash is standing before him as alive as alive gets. He’s even found something like a smile.

Lorca fights the impulse to pull Ash into the hug they deserve. Instead, he limits himself to a less conspicuous handshake.

Ash doesn't seem bothered by the inadequate greeting, warmly clasping Lorca’s hand with both of his.

“You look like shit,” he says thickly, a teasing lilt to his voice.

Lorca makes a sound that wants to be a snort but comes out high and broken, and Ash’s expression softens.

“You ready to go home?”

“Whenever you are,” Lorca says. He wants to be gone yesterday, a month ago, a year ago  he wants never to have come here at all.

Ash nods, and after slowly releasing Lorca’s hand, he falls into step with him.

 

**_xx_ **

 

The ride back out West is long. Ash spends most of it asleep. Lorca doesn't wake him, not even when Ash tips over in his sleep and lands with his head on Lorca’s shoulder. Lorca just closes his own eyes, makes his hands into fists to keep from brushing a stray lock of hair from Ash’s face, and pretends he's asleep, too.

When they reach their stop, Lorca’s favorite mare is waiting outside the general store where he left her. Ash smiles when he spots her- and next to her, Lorca’s temperamental stallion.

“Hello, darlings,” he says, holding his hand out to the mare for a sniff. She mouths at his hand, no doubt searching for one of the treats Ash always keeps on hand.

“We’ll get you something when we get home,” Lorca promises, stroking her neck.

He figures Ash will ease himself onto the mare’s back- Ash is still a city boy, after all, and damn near a year removed from the saddle- but when Ash goes for the stallion, Lorca doesn't argue, just swings himself onto the mare's back.

He does give the stallion a look that ought to communicate, I  _will eat you for stew if you throw him_ , though.

Fortunately for the stallion, Ash’s ass doesn't leave the saddle once as they ride out to the farm.

Seeing their farmhouse rise up in the distance does something funny to Lorca’s chest, and he glances over at Ash just in time to see his partner wipe at his face.

Lorca tentatively reaches over and lays a hand on Ash’s arm. “I had Culber and his man Stamets look after things while we were gone. I sent word that we’d be back soon before I left for New York, but I've no idea if they're still around.”

Ash huffs a laugh. “That's one way of looking at it, I guess. ‘Gone’.”

“Ash…”

Shaking his head, Ash looks over at Lorca. “Don't mind me. I’m just tired. A night’s sleep in my own bed and I’ll be right as rain.”

Lorca wants desperately to believe him, but he can't see Ash’s fading bruises and convince himself anything will ever be right again.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Culber and Stamets are indeed still in the house. They come out to greet Lorca and Ash with twin looks of apprehension.

“I hope you two can readjust to life in the hands’ quarters,” Ash says as he dismounts.

“I've never been so happy to return to mediocrity in my life,” Stamets replies, a look of relief passing over his face. “It's good to see you back, Mr. Tyler. You were missed.”

“Just me? What about Mr. Lorca?”

“All due respect, sir, but Mr. Lorca ain't the one making us anniversary cakes.”

Lorca rolls his eyes, even if he's inwardly grateful to Stamets for the smile he's coaxing out of Ash. “You did good work, gentlemen,” he says before the conversation can drift. “But if you'll excuse us, it's been a long journey.”

Culber nods quickly. “Of course, Mr. Lorca. There's some beans and cornbread left from our supper. We were just putting things away when Stamets saw you.”

“Thank you,” Ash says warmly. “I don't know if I could've waited another hour, even if it was for some of Lorca’s cooking.”

Culber and Stamets nod at them, then make their way to their bunks in the other house.

Lorca follows Ash into the house, and together, they quietly put out bowls and spoons. The food isn't hot anymore, but Lorca doesn't mind it. He's eaten far worse than lukewarm beans. Ash nearly inhales the food, which Lorca takes as a good sign, considering he barely ate on the train and refused to eat any of the food in the saddle packs.

When they finish, Lorca collects the dishes. Ash yawns and sends himself to bed, which initially makes Lorca feel fond- Ash falling asleep over supper is a familiar sight, and he's always even more prone to cuddling when he's tired- only for him to remember why Ash is so tired. He wasn't out breaking horses or chasing off wolves. He was kidnapped and held captive, the only ransom Lorca’s assistance in murdering men the government didn't want around.

It stings that they were able to do that, to steal Ash away and know Lorca had no means of fighting back. A man could kick up a fuss if his wife were stolen from him. He could rally the public and have some chance at forcing the government to return her to him.

But Lorca had no such means of recourse. Taking a man’s best friend sounds silly, and taking the man he loves, well, that's not a sentiment the public will get behind.

It could happen again, too. There's nothing to stop the government from taking Ash away a second and a third and a fourth time…

It's more than Lorca can stand to think about. His heart lives in Ash’s chest. Being separated from it made Lorca feel old and fragile; he may not be as open as Ash is, or half as gentle, but damned if he wouldn't die if he lost Ash for good.

With the dishes done, Lorca weighs his options. On the one hand, he's dying to be close to Ash again. On the other, Ash hasn't exactly been encouraging Lorca to get close to him.

The warm welcome Lorca had hoped was waiting for him in the privacy of their home is nowhere to be found, and he’s feeling all sorts of wrong-footed from it. It isn't like Ash to be withholding. Usually he's just about glued to Lorca when they're indoors, kissing him and touching him and generally being the kind of nuisance that makes Lorca drag him to their bedroom.

He decides it’s probably better if he stays in the room that's nominally his, only to remember it doesn't have any blankets. Winter is coming on strong, and as much as Lorca hates to admit it, he isn't sure his joints can take a day of labor after a night in the cold.

Quietly, he steals into their bedroom and makes for the chest at the foot of the bed where they keep the spare blankets. He's got his prize and is attempting to sneak out without waking Ash when a grumpy voice asks, “The hell are you doing?”

Wincing, Lorca says, “I was just getting a blanket.”

“What do you need a blanket for? There's three on the bed already.”

“Yeah, but there's none on my bed…”

Ash doesn't reply immediately, and Lorca starts to get nervous.

“I'm sorry for waking you.”

“I wasn't asleep.” Ash sighs, and Lorca hears him changing position. “If you want to sleep in your bed, go on and get.”

Something about Ash’s tone strikes Lorca as being off. “It's not that I want to,” he says, wishing he could see Ash. “I just thought you might want your space is all.”

Again, Ash doesn't answer right away. “I had my space for ten months,” he says at last, voice tired in a way Lorca's never heard it. “I found I don't much like it.”

There's an obvious, unspoken request in the words, and Lorca is quick to accept it. He drops the blanket onto the chest and, after kicking off his boots, ducks under the covers. He hesitates a moment but ultimately scoots as close to Ash as he can get, dropping an arm over Ash’s waist like he did before Ash was taken.

To his relief, Ash lays his hand over Lorca’s and knots their fingers together.

“You best be here when I wake up,” Ash warns.

“Course I will,” Lorca promises. “Nowhere I'd rather be.”

 

**_xx_ **

 

Lorca wakes up feeling warm and loose, a feeling compounded by the fact that there's a heavy, familiar weight on top of him. Ash must be awake, too, because he's tracing his fingers over the dips and ridges of Lorca’s ribs.

“Mornin’,” Lorca says.

“Mornin’,” Ash echoes. “You've lost weight.”

“I had more important things to do than eat.”

“More important than staying alive?” Ash frowns. “You ought to fix those priorities of yours.”

Catching Ash’s hand with one of his own, Lorca brings it to his lips so he can kiss Ash’s knuckles. “You're always my priority,” he says softly. “And there's nothing to fix about that.”

Ash lets out a shaky breath. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

Here, finally, Lorca gets the kiss he's been dying for. It's soft and sweet, and he can't help but sigh when Ash slides his hand under Lorca’s shirt.

“They didn't tell me anything about you,” Ash continues. “I had no idea if you were alive or not. Every day, I wondered if I'd ever get to see you again.”

Raising their joined hands, Lorca presses the back of Ash’s to his cheek. “I wondered the same. I relived every moment I could remember and cursed myself for all the ones I couldn't.”

Scooting a little closer, Ash drops his head to Lorca’s chest. “They didn't have you out there doing kind things, did they?”

“They did not.”

“You think they'll come for us again?”

The words are serious, meant as a warning, but they make Lorca’s chest ache for a different reason. He knows Ash is as steadfast as a man can get, has from the moment the man turned up looking for work with those far-off Army-man’s eyes. But there was a part of Lorca that wondered if Ash wouldn't take this as a sign to get out and find himself a safer life. Lorca wouldn't blame him if he did.

But there's that “us” in Ash’s soft voice. And there's his hand, rough from his life in the Army and now out here.

“I can't rightly tell you,” Lorca admits. “I hope they don't- and I think they know things won't go real nice for them if they try.”

Ash snorts. “Something tells me you weren't too nice this time around. You're like a mean old nag at the best of times.”

“You know, I might just take offense to that.”

“Might you now?”

“That's what I said.”

“I'd take your threat more seriously if you weren't smiling at me, you know.”

He has a point, but Lorca can't help it. After months of fear and rage, he's finally got his heart back. He tilts his head for another kiss, which Ash gives him obligingly. He can feel Ash’s smile against his lips, and before he knows what he's doing, he's flipped them over.

Ash looks up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, a little grin quirking his lips. “Typical nag,” he says lightly. “I give you a little bit of something sweet, and you immediately start getting pushy.”

“For a man who doesn't cook, you're awful confident running your mouth, Mr. Tyler,” Lorca informs him, even as he dips his head to kiss Ash’s neck. “I suppose I can overlook it, considering the situation. Any man’d be scatterbrained when he first wakes up.”

Wriggling a little- he's damn ticklish, a fact that never ceases to make Lorca smile- Ash splutters, “What can I say? I happen to like horses.”

“Even old nags?”

“Especially old nags.” Lifting one hand, Ash threads his fingers through Lorca’s hair. “Now, if you know what's good for you, Mr. Lorca, you'll quit playing like a horse and-”

“So help me, if you say ‘mount me’, I will leave you like this.”

“-ride me like one,” Ash finishes petulantly. “‘Mount me’, indeed. I don't know why I like you.”

“I think I can come up with a reason or two,” Lorca says lowly. “Just give me a minute to think, now.”

He makes as if to pull away, and the hand in his hair tightens sharply.

“You, sir, had better not go anywhere.”

“Where would I go?” Lorca asks.

The question comes out more genuine than he intends, and Ash’s brow furrows for a moment before his expression lifts.

“And people say you aren't a romantic.” He loosens his grip, his fingers combing through Lorca’s hair rather than pulling on it. His expression turns thoughtful. “Do you know, I can't think of anywhere you'd go?”

Lorca shrugs. “There isn't anywhere. I've made my bed with you, and I intend to lie in it.”

Ash looks up at him and smiles the sly smile that first told Lorca he was in trouble. “Lying in it is all well and good, but don't you think there's a few other things that can be done in a bed?”

“I don't know why you'd want me whittling in here, but I suppose, if you really don't mind the cuttings-”

“That's not what I meant, and you know damn well know it.”

“I suppose I do,” Lorca tells him, and before Ash can decide he'd rather keep teasing, he sets about proving it.


End file.
